


sad drabbles

by GrayJedi11



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Needs a Hug, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Depression, Gen, Hurt Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Hurt No Comfort, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Mutilation, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, and also some others, tired of writing people interacting none of them are gonna talk to each other, will add character tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayJedi11/pseuds/GrayJedi11
Summary: easy stuff to write cause i got bored of romancebe safe guys. heed the warnings and please don't read if it'll upset you.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	1. remus: drowning

It would be heavy on his shoulders. There would be pressure on his ears. He’d taste the salt in his mouth. He’d feel himself sink.

But he wouldn’t gasp for air.

Remus wouldn’t feel fresh air in his lungs, only water filling them up. He would dare not struggle, he would refuse to even move. Just let himself sink. Let himself die.

He supposed he could recreate the feeling somewhere in the imagination. But… was it worth it without the payoff? No, this should be reserved for when it actually happens, if it even could. For now, he’d just imagine. Sit in his bed with the lights off.

_When are you gonna do it?_

When _was_ he? He’d long past hit the point of nearly doing it, not even caring if he knew whether it was possible. He supposed Virgil had ducked out. It seemed likely that he could do something like that, only… forever.

He doubted he’d be missed.

His alarm went off, pulling him out of his thoughts. He let it go, letting the sound ricochet in his head and make his brain hurt. He had plenty of alarms, not all of them for waking up. What was this one for? Annoying Roman? Running around the imagination?

He checked his phone. Dinner.

What did it matter?

It wasn’t going to change anything. It wasn’t going to change him, or anyone else’s feelings towards him.

He’d go, and just… come back to this. 

Pathetic.

Perhaps it was his time to drown.


	2. virgil: panic

Fear filled him.

He knew this feeling well, the trembles that shook his body, the lightheadedness from his erratic breathing. He gripped the sheets, attempting to hold back the tears in his eyes. He gritted his teeth, frustrated at himself for his unwillingness to just try and calm down.

He shouldn’t calm down. He didn't deserve to be happy. He didn’t deserve to breathe, to live-

Virgil tore his hand from the sheet, dragging his nails up and down his arm. Faster, harder, anything to make this go away. It was working, it was something he could _feel-_

_But what if you dig too hard? Get your razor, get your fucking razor-_

He didn’t know what would happen if he got his razor. He planted his fingernails in his skin, grip tight, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of a song playing in his mind. He didn’t want his razor. Fuck, he did, but he didn’t want to do anything with it.

He was scared, he was so scared.

What if he dug into his veins? What would happen? Would someone find him? He imagined a face, holding his dead body.

_“Virgil…_

_“Virgil, please wake up…_

_“Don’t leave us…”_

_They wouldn’t care enough for that, would they?_

_He was dying. He must be bleeding. He must have killed himself. He should’ve killed himself by now._

_Die._

_Die._

_Di-_

All it took was a text message to interrupt his thoughts. He tossed his phone aside, still holding his arms as he stumbled towards the kitchen. No one saw him as he dug through the fridge, finding a fresh lemon. He bit into it, the sourness of the juice and bitterness of the peel nearly comforting. He held it in his mouth, stumbling backwards to the table.

He wasn’t going to die. Not now, and probably not anytime soon.

He slid to the floor, lemon in hand, resting his head on his knees. He chewed as his breathing started to stabilize, hand squeezing what was left of the fruit.

Finally, his head began to clear.


	3. remus: trains

The gentle breeze made its way across the barren plain, the light green and desaturated. It was unnatural and disturbing for the empty yellow fields. Remus hadn't had the time or energy for something more complicated.

How would Patton react?

He stood, facing the horizon as his feet wriggled against the wood planks, gravel brushing against his toes. Roman's forest sat behind him, leading into towns and cities where the majority of their domain existed, bustling with life, creatures, plants, everything.

But here was quiet.

The low rumble began to approach him with a command from his mind. He closed his eyes.

Patton, while he didn't particularly _like_ Remus, he was protective and kind. He imagined the fear wavering in the moral side's voice, pushing him off of the tracks, quick to pull him into a hug soon after.

Or perhaps Patton would leave him there.

Janus would beg him to get off the tracks, concern and love underneath harsh, seething words. He might cry, silently, debating if it was safe enough to force him off, all while it was getting less and less safe.

The train drew closer.

Logan would be trying to stop the train, morph the Imagination so Remus couldn't return to his suicidal stance. He'd press with all the might his mind had, but it wouldn't be enough from him. He didn't understand the Imagination. He couldn't control it.

The sound was louder now, edging up to a normal fast pace rather than the warped one, where time was slow and he let himself think.

Virgil would be panicking, screaming at Remus, no matter how much he cared about his ex-friend. He wouldn't have the balls to force Remus off, though, blaming himself when he died. When no one answered his cries for help.

The image of the train's lights was clear now.

Roman...

Roman would leave him there, wouldn't he?

No more annoyance, no more chances for his fun to be ruined, no more brother. Roman would love it, creativity all to himself.

_What if he did care? Humor me._

He obliged to his internal thoughts, imagining a distraught Roman beside him on the tracks. He would act somewhat like Janus, frustrated. But he would be unrelenting in his anger, yelling at Remus after he pulled him off by the wrist.

_"You fucking idiot! What the hell were you thinking?!?"_

And maybe things would be different after that. Maybe Roman wouldn't toss around gibes and insults quite as often, maybe he would just leave Remus be. Defend his brother when Thomas was fed up.

Ah. The train's here.

Remus let it hit him, the feeling more like an abnormally strong wind than anything else. It pinched at his insides, but not nearly enough. He wasn't ready for that yet. Not quite ready to die. It kept on squeezing, car after car, until he reached the end. He collapsed, strength ebbing out of his body.

He let himself rest there for a while.


	4. remus: mutilation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow im really into fuckin around with remus angst

Remus was bent over the bathtub, hands gripping the edge tight. Blood dripped from his face, his chest, his arms, his stomach, and soon there would be dark red fluid covering his legs. 

He gazed over his tools, all scattered along the floor of the tub, and a slightly rusted Swiss Army knife clutched in his hand.

It wasn't like it could _hurt_ him.

His hands shook, his whole body weak as he bent further over to drag his morning star from its resting place, handle against the wall. It made a scraping sound as he pulled it over, pulling up his pant leg before giving up and ripping it up to about halfway on his thigh. He took a moment to breathe.

_Is this what you've come to? Ripping apart your body and saying it makes you feel better?_

Roman wanted this from him.

It wasn't like he was trying to _please_ Roman, though. He was either trying to make himself even more revolting, or perhaps just hoping that the blood would make way to numbness. Or maybe it was just a big, nasty guilt trip for all he'd been put through. 

He wondered if they even realized what it was.

He pressed a spike of the morning star against the soft flesh of his leg, digging it in, and cringing as it dragged through his skin. 

Deeper.

Fresh blood spilled from it, pooling with the rest on the floor. He didn't know it was possible to get more lightheaded than he already had been as he slammed his head against the edge of the tub, allowing the pain to ricochet in a sad excuse for a break from his mutilation.

God, the scars this was gonna leave.


	5. roman: breeze

Perhaps it could be a dance.

Roman forced himself to smile, but this time it wasn't a show for anyone else. He let himself get drunk on the prospect of welcoming the breeze drifting in through his window, hugging himself, nails digging into his fat through his costume.

He composed himself, though.

Closing his eyes, the smile settling more naturally on his face, he approached his tall window rimmed with stone. This was important, wasn't it? It had to be perfect.

_Arms out? Back first?_

Decisions, decisions.

He situated himself, rereading his letter, making sure it was _perfect._ No mistakes, not a wasted word. He curled it up tight with a ribbon, knowing at least Remus would think to look here.

He let the smile fall.

It felt wrong, surely, to grin as you die. Smiling wasn't poetic for a tragedy, even if it is a sad smile.

He gripped his sash tight with both hands, feet curling around the edge. 

_This_ had to be perfect. An exact replication of his fantasies, daydreams, what-ifs.

Using the best of his strength, he tore apart his sash. It was enough to force tears to prick at his eyes. The wind curled and caressed his hair, as well as making his sash flutter in his hands. He dropped it with his right. He would hold it with one hand as he fell.

He took a deep breath.

The breeze soon treated him as an old, welcoming best friend, tossing him through its currents.


	6. logan: cold

Logan slicked his hair back, the water chilling his fingers possibly more than they had been. His entire body felt frozen, neck-deep in lake water from Roman's side of the Imagination. 

It was cold. Unbearably so.

It fit, didn't it? He was cold, unwelcoming. He deserved this.

He sank further into the freezing water, testing the bottom of the lake with his toes. He let his head bob beneath the surface, keeping his eyes shut tight as the water passed through his hair. He wished... he wished he could sit here, floating, forever. Drown.

He pulled himself out of the water, taking a deep gasp. No, no, no, he was Logic. He was _needed,_ he was _important,_ he was _wanted._

Was he?

...If he was wanted, wouldn't they show it? Wouldn't they ask if he was okay when he tried to tell them that no, no he wasn't. Wouldn't they have listened to him when he told them that they couldn't just give up their career to become an actor? Wouldn't they at least try to _listen?!?_

He took a deep breath, reminding himself of what he'd tried to make himself understand.

They don't need your input.

You're useless.

You don't do enough.

 _You're_ not enough.

He waded out of the water, the breeze cutting his skin as he left. 

He should probably warm up.


	7. logan: tallahassee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from tallahassee by the mountain goats

Logan traced his hand along the abrasive texture of the rope, feet still planted on the log. The forest was quiet save for a few crickets or the wind rustling the branches. He swayed slightly, eyes closed. He was tired. Tired of his job, of his unimportance, of the other sides' rejection of his plans, his facts, his intelligence. Today, just for today, he could give in to his impulses.

_There is no deadline  
There is no schedule_

The rope tightened around his throat.

He paused.

He took his last chance for a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. This was a terrible way to go. 

But... he couldn't go back.

_There is no plan  
We can fall back on_

There were no excuses. No more lies about his urges in the night, the scars littering his arms and legs. No more half-assed cuts on his wrists or pills swallowed. Today he was going for real.

Logan ignored the voice in his head begging him not to do it, to leave the rope hanging from the tree and run, run fast back home. He didn't even try to repress the tears pricking at his eyes, kicking the log out from under him.

The others could no longer convince him that they cared, that he was as pitiful as them. They could no longer convince him that he was taken seriously. They couldn't convince themselves, once they would find him.

_The road this far can't be retraced  
There is no punchline anybody can tack on_

There was no going back.

He tried to relax as he fell into the noose, gripping it with his hands. It took all of his willpower not to give into his instincts and try to save himself.

He subtly wondered why he'd even bothered trying. Why he'd ever tried to be kind to them. Maybe it wouldn't have led him here. Maybe he could've fixed things, made them listen.

But...

It felt so much further from reality. Even further than death.

He felt the rope constrict and choke him, too tight to cry. He dropped his hands. It was so much easier than scratching at his neck. His glasses slipped off. He didn't care.

_There are loose ends by the score  
What did I come down here for?_

There were so many things he'd left unfinished.

But now was not the time to wonder why.


	8. logan: pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one breaks the pattern by including ships (and other people) but i felt like it needed to go somewhere, so here it is

Logan collapsed onto their bed, Janus in the middle and Remus on the other side. The intrusive side didn't turn out the lamp on his side quite yet, arm draped across Janus's torso. 

"Lo?" Janus asked, tracing Logan's jaw with his hand. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Logan squeezed his eyes tight, choked sobs escaping his throat.

"Oh no, come on- here we go," Janus said, crawling over Logan so he was in the middle instead, shoving his face in Remus's pajamas, grabbing on tight like his life depended on it. Remus wrapped his arms around him and Janus hugged him from behind, and Remus pulled the heavy comforter over him. 

"I- I just c-can't do this anymore p-please just let me- just let me leave, let me die, please, please-"

Remus hugged him tighter, so tight, so that maybe he would feel  _ safe.  _

"Lo, please, you know we're not letting you go. We can't. You mean so much to us, you're worth so much," he said, tangling his fingers in Logan's hair.

"You can feel better. And you will. I promise, love." Janus hugged him tight too, digging his head into Logan's shoulder. 

"It hurts. It- it  _ physically _ hurts, I- I can't do this. I can't take this anymore."

"No.  _ No _ . You can, and you're gonna have to because I love you so much, and Janus loves you  _ so _ much. And as long as we're alive, you're gonna be happy. Someday, somehow, we're gonna get you to be happy."

Logan's sobs didn't let up, loud cries buried against Remus's heartbeat. Janus and Remus had him sandwiched in between them, giving every ounce of affection they had. Quick kisses to his neck or hair, a tighter squeeze, or a nuzzle into his warmth.

Logan's pain was their pain, they both decided. They had to care about him as much as themselves. He was worth it. 


	9. logan: broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hope yall know i type the chapters of this fic straight into ao3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw side negativity (4 everyone but logan)?? maybe??

Logan felt like a mess.

He _was_ a mess, but he didn't dare look in the mirror. Stray hairs clouded his vision, especially so because of his violent yanking and pushing. His glasses were crooked and a lens was cracked, his tie hanging on by nothing but the clinging desperation that he was fine. That he was still numb.

The rest of his clothes weren't faring much better. He didn't have the will to snap them clean, opting rather to head to his room and kneel on his bed and sink down.

He wasn't sure what to do once he was there.

Roman, Patton, Virgil...

He'd lost hope. He'd lost the will to pretend that he believed they loved him anymore. There was no way they cared, that it mattered to them how horrible, lonely, and overlooked he felt.

He collapsed into a tight ball, choking on his own sobs.

It was pointless.

He would be lonely forever, with no one to come and rescue him. No one to save him from his own thoughts, not even the righteous Roman could or would come to comfort him.

And Janus and Remus?

He was sure they never cared. They just furthered the pain that his 'friends' caused, forcing him out of conversations. Logan went against everyone. He judged Roman too hard and held him back, his methods weren't morally correct enough for Patton, he discouraged Virgil, and he did nothing but hold back Remus and Janus.

He pulled his sobs back inside, almost physically feeling himself try to shove his emotions back down. If they saw him like this now, there was no recovering from their fake concern, from the obvious avoidance of actually trying to talk to him about how he felt. 

He sat up, tracing his fingers along the crack in his glasses, using the last ounce of energy he had to shakily close it back up. He set them on the side table, not bothering to change into pajamas before pulling the blanket over him. He had other shirts and ties. He would replace them tomorrow.

He would get up and do his work, even though tonight had broken him. He wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep this going, but he didn't really have a choice, did he? This would all happen again, and again, and again. For tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, and again and again.

He sighed, pulling the blanket over his face.

Another day.

Just one more day.


End file.
